Bad Luck
by Sakura123
Summary: For Fathers Day. A series of short stories I just had to get out of my head. Their all dedicated to Smallville's mild mannered and acident prone father and son: Jonathan and Clark Kent.  COMPLETE
1. 1: Every moment I count

Bad Luck, Knife Struck: Short stories - one shot

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**(1): Every moment I count**

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"Hmm this is the life," Martha Kent hummed happily as she soaked in the bathtub. It had been a hard day work on the farm. Jonathan had practically dropped the duty of chopping (or rather chain-sawing) the lumber and feeding the cows on her while he did most of the tidying and repairs around the farm. Clark had been down at the Talon --- conveniently --- hanging out with his friend Pete Ross. Martha had found it strange that Chloe and most especially _Lana Lang_ were absent but then she remembered Nell Potter had asked her niece to come visit her in metropolis for at least 6 weeks while Summer Break was still in its' prime. 

Chloe had left to somewhere with her father other than Metropolis stating that "she needed to see something, somplace different." When Clark returned back to the house, he looked happier than he had in days and never mentioned Lana's absence once through the entire day (or week for that matter). Jonathan and Martha never said anything because for once they weren't ashamed to admit that they were glad their son had his mind on other thing other than silly crushes and girls. Covered in saw dust and not to mention sweat, the two adults headed off to wash themselves up for dinner which was yet to be made. Jonathan decided to let Martha go first, Martha nodded in agreement at her husband's courtesy, placing a kiss on the only clean spot on his face -- his lips. Jonathan grinned a grin very much like Clark's when he knows he can persuade you to do anything. Almost anything, anyway. She grabbed her cleaning utensils never noticing the wicked like expression Jonathan had on his face.

Martha stuck her toes out of the cover of the suds that surrounded her body, scratching her scalp with her skinny fingers that were buried underneath the thick mound of hair that was atop of her head held up by her thick clawed hair-clip. Humming to herself Martha was brought back to the land of the living by a hard pounding on the door. She recognized the knocking as Clark's. His was slightly hesitant because at one point of his younger life (six or seven) he had banged hard on the door because he had to use the toilet really bad. She had happened to be inside the bathroom using it herself and was caught off guard completely when a small fist came barreling through the thick wood of the door.

There, stood a baffled six year old Clark and Jonathan staring through the hole he had made with his fist (she had vaguely heard Jonathan muttering something about his 'hard work gone to waste'). "Mom! I gotta use bathroom! Hurry up!" He called, hopping for extra measure. Martha's arms fell into the now mucky water, she wanted to relax a little more before getting out Nevertheless she didn't want another hole in a new door. "All right, I'm getting out," Martha mumbled rising out of the water.

Jonathan and Clark were stationed on each side of the wall that door resided in, with their arms behind their heads and their bodies leant up against the wall. The two men stared each other with wry smiles. "You think she'll do it?" Clark asked, his mouth forming into a grin. Jonathan grinned back at his son his blue eyes shifting on the door at the sound of Martha's feet pattering against the ground. "If I know your Mother, son, then yeah --- I think she'll do it -- for sure," He said unable to hold back a chuckle. Clark stifled a laugh as he listened to his mother humming, without a care in the world. That is until she stood on the scale meant for her use only.

What followed after was a scream that would scared even the bravest dog white. The two stiffened in thieir appraoch to the door, smothering their impulsive _protective-mode_. "**_Three hundred pounds!_** This can't be!" Jonathan and Clark stared at each other with wide eyes. They burst out into a fit of laughter overshadowing Martha's angry words as she lifted herself off the ground where she had fallen at. "You two . . .!" Martha cried rushing towards the door. The amused expressions fell from their faces in those small matter of seconds. The two scrambled away from the door at top speed just as Martha came out. pipping mad. Wielding a bottle in her hand she tossed it at Jonathan, she missed by several feet, Clark watched the shampoo bottle hit the floor below the stairs and he supers sped out of the house leaving his father behind. "Just wait, I'll get the both of you!" Martha cried as Jonathan leapt off the second to the last stair. He darted out of the house himself, heading for the barn.

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(FIN) 


	2. 2 The key to a question or answer is

**(2): "The key to a question or answer is?" . . . . "asking?"**

The stars sparkled brighter than usual that night. It was a great relief to the blonde that stared out into the universes depths, apparently searching for something. Jonathan sighed tiredly scratching his head, it just made no sense to him. He sat outside his bedroom window (out on the roof) where his wife Martha resided, sleeping peacefully in her mind lost in her own little world, Beside her laid a seven year old Clark kent who was recovering from a most recent nightmare he had. Jonathan hated it when his son had nightmares, it was just as worse having them himself. And he had them; mostly when Clark had reached his sixth birthday, save for he never woke up screaming nor crying just with a pain in his chest and a sort of emptiness that never seemed to go away until he forced himself out of bed to check on Clark.

The nightmares, his own, had stopped since then. Clark's kept going like a bad _Hunter_ rerun. With a sigh he pulled his knee up closer to his chest making sure he would not slide down the roof onto the ground, something he had done plenty times as a child and young man. Usually to sneak out someplace he wasn't supposed to be, although he got caught more times as a teenager than a child; his father was always on alert. Scratching the back of his head Jonathan turned slowly around ready to crawl back through the open window when he was caught off guard by a small head sticking out of it staring at him with its large brown eyes. "H-hiya," Clark waved hesitantly, looking as though he had done something wrong. Jonathan released his breath he was unaware of holding as he placed himself back into his sitting position. He gestured to the empty spot beside him wanting Clark to come out.

"Whadya doin' out here, Dad?" Clark asked yawning. The blonde shrugged. "I dunno," Jonathan replied, offhandedly. "I couldn't sleep (Clark gave his father a weird look). I was wondering . . .," The seven year old climbed out the house carefully, heading towards his father. Clark put one hand in front of the other crawling slowly towards Jonathan until he could grasp his father's arm and pull himself towards safety. He lifted Jonathan's arm up so he get underneath it. Once he was snuggled closely to his father Clark lowered Jonathan's arm but kept a firm grip on his hand. "-'Bout what?" Clark asked curiously. Jonathan stared up into the stars for the longest time before answering his son.

"More or less, about you," He responded with a heavy sigh. Clark's nose scrunched up in confusion, why was his father wondering about him? Certainly it wasn't about his nightmare? If so he shouldn't have even come inside their bedroom and cried about it if his father was gonna lose sleep over him. "I mean," Jonathan paused. "Why would anyone . . .?" Jonathan stopped himself, realizing he was about to spill the truth a little too early. Clark scooted closer, interested. "What?" He said, excitedly. Jonathan shook his head quickly with a weak wave of his hand, he did his best to put on a carefree smile for his son. He didn't want to worry him. "Nothing," He sighed leaning back a bit. He kept the heel of his extended leg against the roof so he would not slip and fall. "Ah C'mon dad, you can tell me ---," Clark said looking around. "Mom's not awake, so you can tell me anything. It'll be just between us guys."

The older man eyed the young boy strangely trying not to laugh at his silly antics, his choice of words were nothing short of amusing. Shrugging his shoulders Jonathan figured he might as well tell him something since he knew Clark would keep pestering him until he got an answer. "If you really wanna know. I was wondering who in their right mind would lose such a special young man such as yourself. But more or less why you keep having nightmares," Jonathan replied swallowing the wad of guilt in his throat. "Hmm . . . I eat too many sweets late at night?" The seven year-old suggested with a shrug. "Cause you always told me, eating all that sugar can make you have nightmares. I did sorta eat that last piece of cake when Mom told me not to."

Jonathan gave his son a mock-disappointed look with a shake of his head. Clark felt his father stiffen at his small "Sorry." This was something he apparently didn't want to talk about at the moment. The boy shrugged mentally; he'll always have tomorrow to be scolded. Clark's pale pink lips pressed against each other as he tried to break the uncomfortable silence his father had fallen into. "Do you ever have nightmares, dad?" Clark asked. Maybe if he focused more on asking his father about himself instead of him it would bring him out of his sober mood. "Yeah. Sometimes. But not as often as I used to," Jonathan replied tiredly. Clark nodded, the sound of the world around them (crickets and the possible owl, if Clark was not mistaken) echoed around them.

The boy thought for another moment as he tried to focus on the world before him, he could make out the outline of trees and the faint light off in the distance. He looked up, Jonathan's eyes were once again staring into the stars: Martha had once told him it was his father's favorite thing to do before he got so busy that he hardly had time to stargaze through the telescope Clark had in his bedroom. Clark pouted slightly as he tried to find something to say, anything to get his father talking. _I did sorta intrude in his private time, maybe he's mad._ Poking his father in the side, Clark said, "Are you mad?" Jonathan turned in response with a perplexed expression on his face, Clark repeated his question. Jonathan felt his joints loosening up as he lowered his shoulders, they were aching something terrible. "No," Was the simple reply. Then he added, "I like your company," Clark smiled at this with a bob of his had then paused for a minute. Maybe it was something else that was bothering his father.

"Do you ever regret, you know, keeping me?" He asked. Clark winced outwardly at the tensing of his father's body, yet again. _That was a stupid thing to say, Clark. Now he's all tense again._ Jonathan stared down at his son with a unsurprised glint in his eyes, the boy stared back at him like a criminal on trial. The usual 'regret' question; it came up frequently in their conversations when Martha was absent. Jonathan always expected it and continued to wonder to this day why he felt so self-conscious about their keeping him. He sensed the boy knew there was something different about himself (besides the obvious) compared to the rest of the world and there was no telling when he would become too fed up with it to buy his parents excuses. Jonathan just hoped it was after he matured a little more than he was now. "Of course not, Clark. Your my son and I'm just fine with it. I could never think of giving up a sweet little boy like yourself." It was a simple response, not as strong as all the other times and ways Jonathan had said it, but this sort of reaction was to be expected. There was so many times a person could answer the same question before becoming tired of answering it. Clark allowed himself to be hoisted up onto his father's lap and squeezed in his father's bear hug.

He laughed quietly at the limp-ish way his arm hung over his father's arms that were wrapped around his upper body. "No matter stinky or incredibly lazy you can be," Jonathan joked. Clark snorted in objection nudging his father in the ribs gently so he would not hurt him. "Not true, I'm a good boy, just like Mom says I am," Clark replied proudly. Jonathan chuckled good naturally as he released his son from his grasp. Jonathan averted his gaze skyward noticing the starts were dimming and there was a faint light appearing the sky, morning was already here. "All right, it'll be daylight soon so I want you get some sleep while you can," Jonathan stated giving his son's bottom a push. Clark whined as he climbed softly back into the house, his thin pajama pants could feel the breeze hit his legs as he did so.

Jonathan climbed in after him and once his bare feet were on the hard wood floor he shut the window slightly and turned to find Clark on the bed already underneath the covers. Martha stirred in her sleep, both men paused rigidly as she rolled over to her right side her hand reaching out to feel something. Clark snuggled underneath his mother and Martha fell still. Jonathan breathed a short sigh of relief. Clark watched his father walk around the bed and head towards the bedroom door, he did not like this one bit. He was under the impression he would go back to bed with him. "Dad where ya goin'?" He asked. "I am going downstairs," Jonathan replied. Clark shook his head quickly. "Uh-uh. Dad _please_ stay here? You can work later," Clark protested. Jonathan considered the boy's words knowing they were true, while also considering he was probably still a bit rattled by his nightmare (thus consisting of what Clark described as too creepy for words).

Sighing the blonde headed back over to the bed, he climbed underneath the covers and laid his head on his pillow. Jonathan laid on his back with his head turned towards the slightly open bedroom door. "Yay!" Clark cheered a little too loudly. Martha's head shot up from its pillow in that instant, she groggily stared at the lifted arms of the seven year old, appearing in a least chipper mood. How was a woman supposed to get any sleep with such a noisy child in the bed. "Oh shit ---!" Jonathan laughed into his pillow. He was not supposed to have said that in front of Clark._Cool, Dad cussed!_ Clark thought excitedly. The blonde received a punch from his wife who had her gaze fixed on her son. "What are you two doing up?" She slurred.

Jonathan remained still while Clark fell back on the bed and hid underneath the covers. "I'm not up, I'm sleeping. See?" Clark snored loudly. Martha cracked a sleepy grin. "Yeah, well, can you sleep quietly please? There are people in this room that want to wake up without bags under their eyes," Martha stuck her arms underneath the covers and tickled the young boy until he begged her to stop. Jonathan yawned throwing his arm over his eyes, Martha just pulled the covers up around her shoulders and closed her eyes. When all was silent Clark peered up from under the covers at the sleeping forms of his parents, his worries over his nightmare were far from gone but the feeling it gave him had been nullified. His brown-eyes darted between the two of them, he slid over to his father and rested his head on the man's chest. Jonathan unconsciously draped his arm over the seven year old.

(FIN)


	3. 3 There she is woman of my dreams

**(3): There she is . . ., woman of my dreams?**

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_"So there I was, standing in the middle of Smallville High's vast and crowded hallways. The world around me be seemed to be dragging through time, taking me along for the ride with its bland environment as the students headed to their respective classes. I tried to keep my borrowed tex books from the school's library from falling out of my arms. I had to get Chemistry before the bell rang. Jumping over my untied shoes laces as I traveled down the hall pushing through the thinning crowd of teenagers. _

_Physical ED was what I had just come from, Dad was proud that I had become the top of my class in this specific area of school, Mom was worried I wasn't focusing enough on my school work despite the fact that I told her that I was getting better in English and Algebra II. I was good at the nonphysical things so long as I keep myself focused on it and not on a certain person I admired from afar. She was the most beautiful person I had ever met; she's sweet, kind and giving (or at least she appeared that way), some of things I admired in a person regardless of their preference. Most of the time. Yawning, I straightened the stack of books in my arm as I tried to move my messenger bag to the front of me so I could drop them inside. It was almost near the chemistry class and I had managed to get two books in my bag. This time I figured I wouldn't have an accident. _

_Of course this was before I saw her. She was walking towards me, surrounded by her posse, wearing a skirt, blouse, a heart shaped necklace, rumpled socks and loafers on her feet, her face surrounded by her wonderful brunette hair. Her head towards me (or at least I thought she did) and waved franticly. She waved at me. ME! Not wanting to embarrass myself I looked around and spotted no one she would know; I waved back and got a negative reaction. Her face fell when her eyes focused on me, but it instantly lit up when someone from behind shoved against me to get to her. _

_My unruly hair fell in front of me, hiding the disappointment in my face. I should've know it was a stupid football jock -- he was stupid right now, because I was feeling stupid for ever thinking --- "Ah!" I found myself on the ground in a matter of seconds, I tripped over my untied shoe laces. I stood up quickly gathering what little pride I had left. All around me were faint giggles from girls and snickers from the boys as I leaned over to pick up my fallen books. When I reached over to pick up my book on manic depressive illness someone beat me to the punch. I looked up and there she was, the woman of my dreams handing me the book. "Here, I think you dropped this," She said with an amused smile. Well, she isn't the only one laughing, I thought to myself taking the book from her. "Thanks," I replied hastily. _

_I shoved the book into my bag standing up, she followed suit twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. She looked perplexed for a moment as she stared at me, I felt like a hamster in a cage. "What was your name again?" She asked suddenly. I looked dazed, wondering why she had asked for my name. She would just forget it, but I decided to humor her some more. "Uhh - I'm Jonathan Kent," I had said. "Your Hiram Kent's son," She stated, as though amazed. I fought the urge to roll my eyes as my face turned red. Everyone thought my Dad was cool or alright, teenagers included. "Nell Potter?" I said hesitantly. Nell nodded her smile getting bigger. _

_"Yeah that's it!" Nell Paused when she heard one of the cheerleader's calling her name. Turning back to me she gave me a genuine smile before trotting off. "I'll see you later," Nell said. I gave her a halfhearted shrug trying to look like I didn't care, the girl broke into a jog to catch up with her friends. I would've stay in that exact spot forever if it wasn't for the shrill ringing of the bell. I made a mad dash down the hall and around the corner just as the last student shut the chemistry classroom door. Someday I'll have my chance with Nell Potter. I'm sure of it. Then I'll tell dad I told you so :--)_ ---- Jonathan Kent (age 15)."

Clark jumped at the sound of the front door opening and the familiar jingle of Shelby's collar and his father's keys. Reopening the closet of his parents bedroom he tipped the old wooden box top open and slid the rustic looking journal back into its original place. "Clark, we're home," Came his mother's call. Clark too a look around the room to make sure he hadn't moved anything out of place, he then shut the closet door and headed down the hall to meet his parents down stairs. "Hi Clark, how was you day? Did you talk to Chloe?" Martha asked as she stepped over Shelby who was currently tugging at Jonathan's plaid shirt. This was a new found game the canine played with Jonathan whenever he got the chance.

Clark shoved his hands into his pockets, trying his best not to smile like an idiot whenever his eyes averted to his father. "I talked to Chloe; she said she's recovering from Nash's fake school incident. And my day was fine. I wrote a letter to Pete and bickered with Lois," He said. "Who is, thankfully out of the house and bothering the General Lane." Jonathan chuckled as he buttoned his plaid shirt (for Shelby wasn't releasing his sleeve anytime soon) revealing his blue T-shirt, Shelby released his sleeve and attempted to grab Jonathan's blue shirt. Acting quickly the blonde pulled his plaid shirt off his shoulders and draped it over the dog's face. "That's good to hear," Jonathan said heading into the kitchen. Clark hopped of the stair case and kneeled in front of Shelby, removing the shirt from off his head. The dog licked the young man's face in approval.

"Good Dog," He coaxed scratching him behind the ears. Shelby barked twice in agreement giving Clark's face another lick. The two of them averted their gaze over to his parents. In that moment Clark felt like a seven year old boy again as he watched his parents kissing. Or as Chloe would call it 'a lip lock each other' and hugging while doing so, he cringed in mock-disgust. Suddenly an idea hit him. Grinning from ear to ear he said in a loud booming voice (mocking his father's), "Someday I'll have my chance with _Nell Potter._ I'm sure of it. Then I'll tell dad I told you so. Jonathan Kent." Both parents broke away from each other to stare at their son; Clark especially noticed his father's cheeks turning red. _A rare occurrence_. Clark's grin widened when he saw Martha's eyes shift to her husband. "You couldn't've been any more than my age or younger," He laughed. Jonathan slowly scooted away from the island, advancing on the 18-year-old. "Clark what did we tell about, snooping in our very **_PRIVATE_** things?" Jonathan asked. Clark rocked back on his heels with a shrug of his shoulders. The next thing Martha knew both men were out the door and rushing across the yard, laughing and stumbling. She watched them through the window appearing astonished at their childish behavior. Martha prayed Jonathan wouldn't hurt Clark too much for reading his old journal.

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(FIN) 


	4. 4 The Illiustrated Reporter

**(4): The Illiustrated Reporter: Juior Sleuth**

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There times when the Kent farm is the greatest place to get away from the world. There are endless amounts of places to go and hide depending on your tolerance to the smell of cows and stalls that are never far enough away from you. But then are times when you wish you just run away from it. However, the realization of other places that were once empty now full of bustling children or teenagers looking for adventure were no longer opitions. This was very much the case now.

December was never Jonathan's favorite month of the year --- aside from Christmas there was not much to look forward to besides the occasional stray snow balls that hit him in and out of the house. Clark had made himself a new friend. She recently moved to Smallville from Metropolis and was attending Junior High school with his son. Chloe Sullivan was her name. She was spry little blonde teenager, with spiky ends to her hair that stood off in every witch direction, pale skin a pudgy sort of nose, she was short compared to Pete and Clark, and had the cutest set of brown eyes he had ever seen on a blonde.

Clark had told him after her visit to their farm Chloe had kissed him stating that she said, "I know you've been thinking about the entire time, so I thought we'd just get that out of the way." Jonathan was for lack of a better word, in shock but didn't reprimand his son, for he had been in a situation much like the one he described (only there wasn't any kissing). She pretty much kept Clark occupied so that left him out of any thing conversation wise. So instead of staying the warm comfort of his house with Martha who was knitting her little fingers away. A bit too distracted to speak to him, Jonathan laid flat on the ground in a down barn jacket equipped with gloves on his hands, a scarf around his neck, snow boots and his snow hat. He blinked occasionally as he stared into the gray skies above him. Snow flakes fell upon his eyebrows and eyelashes. He could feel himself falling asleep.

However, this was never achieved, the sound of someone stomping through the snow toward him brought him back to the land of the living. He waited until they stopped to open his eyes. He was surprised to say the least to find Chloe Sullivan standing above him in her blue jacket with hello-kitty characters all over it, her head was covered with a Gap snow cap that covered her red ears. "You know you could can catch a cold like that? I did it once and was sick for half a month," She said kneeling down. Jonathan pushed himself up off the ground into a sitting position. "Is that so?" He replied dryly. Chloe nodded. "I'll try to keep that in mind, okay?" Chloe nodded fervently then paused. "Why are you out here Mr. Kent?" Chloe asked cocking her head to the side. Jonathan shrugged rubbing his eyes with his hand. "Why aren't you playing with Clark?" Jonathan retorted, grinning.

Chloe turned her head toward the house for a moment then said, "He said he had to go to the bathroom. He drank too much orange juice," Jonathan let out a short laugh pulling himself into a standing position, Chloe's mouth was slightly gape in awe at the man's height. She stared at him just as her cap fell over her eyes, Jonathan shook his head in amusement. "How tall are you?" She asked pushing her hat back up on her forehead. Jonathan pondered for a moment, his foot tapped against the snowy ground as he tried to remember his height exactly. "Uhh - 6'4', I think," He replied. Chloe's eyes widened at the estimate and she stood a little closer to him placing her hand between his part of his upper body and her head.

"Oh, wow, I'm not even there yet. Your are _tall_," She said, with a nod of her head. "Guess what?" Jonathan suppressed an exasperated sigh as he readied himself for more talking. "What?" He asked. "The school said they might give me the job on their newspaper and when I grow up I'm gonna be the greatest reporter in the entire world," Chloe stated proudly. Jonathan's eyebrows raised in forced amazement although he cracked a genuine smile. "That's great Chloe," He said, stretching his limbs. Seven minutes didn't even pastbefore Chloe started talking again. "Mr. Kent, If you weren't a farmer or married with a kid what would you be?" She asked quickly. Jonathan's shoulder's slumped in exasperation this time, Chloe just grinned. "Do you always ask this many questions?" Jonathan grumbled.

Chloe pondered for a bit then said, "Nope. Only when the people I think are worth questioning," Chloe replied honestly. Jonathan hung his head down with a groan. This was also a great way for her to kill time while she waited for Clark --- who was taking a considerably long time to use the toilet --- to return from his trip. Jonathan was the perfect person to practice her potential reporter skills on. He wasn't very talkative around her and she barely knew him. Just as he opened his mouth to respond the sound of the front door opening caught his attention. Clark came stumbling out of the house zipping his jacket up, halfway into his shoes. _Saving grace!_ Jonathan thought. He was unaware that he had expressed his relief through body language. When Jonathan looked down at Chloe he found her mock-glowering at him as Clark approached her. "Hi Chloe, sorry I was so long. Mom needed help with the oven door; it was stuck so I opened it up for her," Clark breathed. He demonstrated by flexing his muscles which were unnoticable at the time. Chloe nodded her head dismissing the excuse. "That's fine, let's go finish building our snowman," She said taking his hand.

Clark turned red in an instant as she lead him off towards their half-built snowman. Jonathan watched them walking off away from him just as something clicked in his mind. "Chloe!" He called. The two tweens stopped in their tracks turning to their attention to the blonde across from them. "If I wasn't a farmer or married with a kid . . . . I guess I would be a troubleshooter," He stated halfheartedly with a shrug. It was a sper of the moment thought; danger was not something Jonathan went looking for and was more than happy with his current occupation.

Chloe's brown eyes shifted to the ground below her then back up at Jonathan. She squinted her eyes raising her hands up. Creating a window with her fingers, she captured the upperbody of the older Kent --- imagining him in a pair of relaxed cargo pants, a long sleeved shirt underneath a dark blue plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled up halfway, a messenger bag slung over his right arm and underneath his left one. And lastly a younger face with a wacky short haired hair cut, holding several bars of Hershey chocolate. "Hmm. You'd make a pretty good troubleshooter," She said finally before marching off. Clark followed after her. Jonathan begged to differ, although it was a nice adventurous thought that kept his mind of the sogginess of the back of his pants.

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(FIN) 


	5. 5 I just saw did what Clark's POV

**(5): I just (saw) did what? (Clark's POV)**

**

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**

(Spring; April 1996: Clark: 11, Jonathan: 35, Martha: 34):

_The world around me was dark spanning into what seemed endless save for a pillar of light in a blue-ish Hugh that surrounded me. I looked down at my hands -- they were larger than I remembered them, especially since I'm only Eleven years old, these hands looked like adult hands, covered with veins like I seen on my Dad's hands and calloused. I looked around but saw nothing. I knew for a fact that I was stark naked, curled up like a cat somewhat. I didn't feel happy at all, of that much I assessed from this strange place --- I had a nasty stinging feeling on my chest and someone was talking to me. _

_I didn't know who but I didn't like whoever it was in the least. In fact I resented him to an extent -- I think because my expectations of meeting this person or thing were greatly overrated and shot down in a blaze of fire --- I resented him for what he to my . . . Dad I think? I think he hurt my Dad, I don't know what where my mother is, this makes me worry. Where is she? Did this thing hurt my Mom or did he just kill her? No, no, I think my Mom is safe. But what Lana? And Pete and Chloe -- wait a minute who's Chloe? ---, are they all right? Did this thing hurt them too? Hey . . . its getting kinda wet in here . . . I think I should . . . wake up. Yeah, that's it! Wake up Clark Kent! This is nothing but a bad . . ._

* * *

". . . Dream," I mumbled as I awakened from my dream state. Thunder rumbled in the distance but the rain came down hard on every part of the house except the inside, naturally. I sat up slowly regaining my senses for the real world still trying to come to terms with that eerie dream I had. I felt like I knew what was happening but something inside of me told me it was completely foreign. Groaning I made a move to climb out the bed to check on my parents when I felt something moist on my legs as well my lower body. "Wha?" I mumbled tiredly, looking underneath my sheets. Before I could completely gather what was up I was bombarded with an obnoxious smell rivaled Pete's stink bombs. I stumbled out of the bed I soon realized I had did something I hadn't done in years I pissed in my bed.

This was embarrassing just thinking about it, there was no way I could tell my parents I wet the bed like some three year old, there was no way on this good earth I would do that. Waddling closer to my bed I took a sniff at my funky sheets again, they smelled even worse now that I was fully awake and aware. Turning on my table lamp on I hastily tore the covers off my bed and threw them into my hamper my dad made especially for me, I yanked my pillow case off as well and tossed into the hamper along with everything else I had on. By the time I had finished stripping myself down to my skivvies (my underwear) I realized my legs were a bit damp, swallowing my pride I grabbed my bar of soap as well as my washcloth and headed for the door. I peered my head out into the hall way; my parents door was wide open so I had be careful about walking down the hall. My dad was a light sleeper -- unlike my Mom who slept like a log in the woodland area of Smallville. I had to be careful.

I stepped outside my bedroom knowing full well what floor boards to step on and which ones not to step on, I had gotten into trouble enough times to memorize it. Venturing down the halls at night while there was a rain storm reminded me of a bad horror movie I watched with Pete one time on Halloween. I think it _was Bram Stroker's Dracula_, or something in that genre of B-Movies, I expected something to come out and jump me when I least expected it but I managed to make it all the way to the bathroom door. With a grin I hoped the door. In that same moment my jaw dropped in shock at the sight I beheld before me. There stood my parents; Mom was scrubbing Dad's hair and Dad was doing the same to her thick red hair, their heads were covered in shampoo suds and I was in nothing but my slippers and underwear. This was not how I expected this to go down.

"Oh -- um -- hi Clark, sweetie," Mom said nervously taking her hands out Dad's hair. "What are you doing up at this time of hour, son?" Dad asked me. I snapped myself out my dumbfounded state long enough to given them both suspicious looks. "I can ask you same question," I said trying to look . . . Intimidating in my underwear. My parents stared at me with narrowed eyes -- they didn't look all too intimidating themselves but I knew what strengths they possessed so I changed the look on my face. "Sorry," I mumbled. I tried not to look up at their hair, they looked liked some horror icons wives, maybe Dad looked more like Einstein, but that was besides the point. Dad must've noticed I was staring at them weirdly but because he cleared his throat awfully loud, I shifted my eyes downward. Bad idea; I remembered that I was just in my Underwear. "Did you have a bad dream?" Mom asked.

_Apparently, you don't smell piss on me,_ I thought with a scowl. I had to stop making facial expressions like scowls, I swear my parents were getting the wrong idea. "I had a nightmare -- I think. I don't remember it though. But I did . . . ," I trailed all upon feeling my cheeks turn red at the thought of telling them. Mom and Dad moved closer and I wondered if the would smell me now. "You did what, son?" Dad asked, his face contorted with concern. "Clark, are you all right?" Mom asked me. I looked up at my parents revealing my red face, my parents' eyebrows raised in question. "I . . . I pissed in my bed?" I said hesitantly.

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(FIN). 


	6. 6: Smothering problemeer

**(6): Smothering problemeer (at your service)**

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**Author:** Sakura123 

**Genre:** General (written in 1st Person)

**Timeline:** Season II Set after the episode "Vortex." before "Heat." _Number Six _of my short story attack.

**Characters:** Read to find out. (mentioned characters).

**Rated:** PG (For language)

**Summary:** Problems just don't go away at your command, no matter how hard you want to believe everything is right with the world (Shrug). Somehow, asking ME for advice is a very big problem if I can't ask _your Dad _or Lana Lang. (Pause) How is she is anyway? (Scowl) Who gives a damn?

**Disclaimer:** All characters, places, names or otherwise mentioned concerning Smallville and **_SUPERMAN_** belongs to the DC Comics and the WB company.

**Authors Note:** I've barely watched Season two when it was airing and rerunning. I've seen, however, the episode Jonathan Taylor(?) Thomas stared in; I think Jonathan was using crutches in that episode, I frankly don't know what happened so I guess this will be a bit AU-ish in places concerning the order of happenings in the S2 episodes.

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Sometimes I wish the lake was closer to the farm than way out there past the forest, the walk is sometimes murder and I always find myself confronted by the resistance of leaving the farm because I find that my work really helps me forget about the world around me for a few sweaty hours. Then there's always the urge to go off someplace and do something other than work, I need a hobby is all, a nice practical hobby aside from worrying about every single thing in the world around me. 

So here I am sitting on the back of my truck in the middle of the late afternoon watching the sun reflecting on the rippling lake, I had thrown stones into the water earlier. I rubbed the back of my neck feeling stiff all over from the work I subjected myself to. My hands ached as well, milking cows is no fun at all. Then again either is work. I continued to stare out into the lake for the longest time barely noticing I had company approaching in all too familiar red Volks Wagon Beetle. I wasn't sure what to do with myself at the current moment, no work and all play is how my week has been lately, mostly because I've been trying forget what happened to me all at once and far to quickly for me to react to.

In time, my mental aches and bruises will heal up to what ever extent my wounded pride will allow it to, then it'll be back to normal. _As normal as can be, anyways,_ I thought to myself. I scrubbed my face with my aching hands in a way to wake myself up. The tranquil peace at the lake side was really working on me like I had expected to; I could fall asleep right this moment if it wasn't for the fact that two certain people would come running out the house to look _me_, worried sick about my absence I couldn't blame them, I'd worry too if they just suddenly didn't return because of some flimsy excuse like "It was nice at the lake, I decided to sleep in the truck for the rest of the night." I grinned at the possibility of how it would sound if I came home the next day.

Lying back in the truck I stared up into the fusca tinted sky catching the faint sparkles of the stars slowly coming out to greet the nocturne animals and insomniacs, neither of which I happen to be. Okay, maybe and Insomniac every other month (mostly in July, the hottest month of year, and sometimes in December.) but other than that I manage to sleep through the nights. I scratched behind my ear upon feeling something tickling it, I sat up and looked around. The sandy lake area was deserted still and I was all by my lonesome with the exception of fire flies and other insects. I groaned feeling a headache coming on. Lying down in a truck on a warm night after working as hard as I did was probably not the wisest thing I've done all day.

Mussing up my hair I slowly climbed out of the back of the truck and proceeded toward the front, with every intention of going home until I noticed a head of blonde hair setting on the ground beside the wheel of the truck. "C-Chloe?" I blurted. She looked horrible from my point of view; her hair was more of a mess than it usually was, her face was puffy and red, the same went with her watery eyes and runny nose. She wore a usual outfit; a short denim jacket, a too small tank top that revealed her slightly chubby stomach, too small jeans that barely hung on her hips let alone backside (I couldn't see that far back, though), a messenger bag lying on the ground beside her (some of her books had fallen out slightly), and her cell phone handing limply in her small hands, her thumb resting lightly on the 'call' button. She looked up at me quickly rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, I was forced not to roll my eyes as I kneeled down in front of her.

"Clark's not here," I announced, hoping she would come out of her sobbing stupor she had put herself in. But Chloe didn't budge as she continued to try not to cry in front of me, it wasn't amusing to say the least. She swallowed what sounded like another sob before she turned to me with angry red eyes. "I don't want to talk to Clark," She sniffled, sounding like a six year old who couldn't get her way. I nodded my head, not quite understanding what she meant. "Why not?" I insisted. Chloe snapped her cell phone shut and tossed it across the ground. "Why not? Are you the only person who doesn't know what happened?" She proclaimed, sounding a bit upset. I tried not to shrug as I watched her fight back more tears.

I knew what happened, Clark had explained everything to myself and Martha, he was in hot water with Chloe apparently. I sighed in dismay, _the boy's got a one track mind._ What he did was noble in terms of saving human life, but then he left Chloe at the prom and didn't return to come get her. That would be enough to bring me down too, if I were a female. "No, I know what happened, Chloe," I responded sitting next to her. Chloe looked as though her personal space was invaded for some particular reason but she made no moves to tell me to leave if she was bothered by my presence.

"If you don't want to talk to Clark, then just talk to Pete, Gabe or Lana. . .," I trailed off. The young woman beside me looked as though she was going to start crying again, just because I mentioned the other girl's name. I opened my mouth to apologize but Chloe beat me to the punch, speaking wise. "I don't want to talk to Pete, he'll just say that Clark - Clark, he'll just say something stupid about Clark and me forgiving him instantly. I don't want to talk to Dad, he'll just look at me sympathetically and say _"It'll be okay, sweetheart, you'll forgive him in time," _Chloe paused to exhale a shaky breath. I fought back the urge to place a hand on the girl's shoulder and repeat what she had just said.

Chloe continued. "And I _certainly_ don't want to talk to miss perfect _Lana Lang_!" Chloe struggled against her will to scream the last part of her sentence. I watched her not with sympathetic or sad eyes, just disappointed ones. I'm amazed at how young girls will let little things like crushes and boys ruin their early lives and amazed at how narrow-minded Clark can be when it comes to this particular one that resided beside me. They were best friends, I knew that all too well, Clark knows Chloe better than Lana. So it made me wonder how he spends so much time with the superficial girl instead of down to earth girl. A girl that would throw herself in front of a train for him, if he notice her the way she wanted him to. I scowled at myself mentally. I had a brief period of swooning over the superficial for as long as I can remember and I got her the girl too.

Right after I made it to the football team (I still wonder to this day if Nell really liked me for who I was, or just because I was star quarterback). However, I never had any female friends that had feelings for me other than friendship. I thank God, I went to collage in Metropolis when I did. Chloe whipped her nose with a napkin she had balled up in her hand, she sniffled and rubbed her eyes. "Why does everyone think, I'll be so quick to forgive Clark. I hate the fact that everyone thinks just because I'm his friend, I'll forgive him just like that!" She snapped her fingers in example. Chloe turned to me with hopeful eyes. I suddenly found myself swallowing against the normal advice I give to Clark in his dire times and pondered shortly on what to say to the suffering teenager beside me.

I twiddled my fingers around the zipper of my barn jacket, I began to take notice that the sun was rapidly setting behind the mountains. Mussing up my hair again, I rested my head against the truck door. "So you came here, to tell me this, hoping I'd say something different than the usual?" I said. I shifted my blue eyes toward Chloe expecting an answer. She swallowed nervously with a nod; she explained to me that she had come to the farm to talk to (or chew out) Clark but he was no where around, so she had asked Martha if I was anywhere around. Being the kind of person she is, Martha told Chloe I was down at the lake and it was lucky for her I was still here. "Well," I said, cracking a flattered smile. "That's awful . . . nice." Chloe just laughed and sobbed at the same time whipping her nose again. I just watched her for a while unable to hide my smile.

Chloe looked up at me with confused brown eyes. "Is there something wrong with me? I mean, have done something wrong to deserve my horrible life?" She choked. I was taken aback by the sudden change of tone in her voice. First we were talking about Clark and now it was her life. That just too many complex subjects to keep track of. She shifted her eyes to me expecting me to say something. "Is your life horrible?" I said. Chloe paused in her answer then blinked for the longest time, staring into space. I think she was actually reevaluating her words, I wasn't expecting her to spill her life story to me just a simple answer to my question would do. Her head lowered slightly, her eyes peering at me through her split ended bangs. "No . . . not really, Mr. Kent," She said.

I nodded in a understanding way. What she had said before was the typical teenage response when things aren't going their way. However, Chloe wasn't typical in the ways of the word. She was much more than that. "But . . . it isn't perfect either," Chloe added. I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Of course it isn't, Chloe. No one's life is perfect. But doesn't mean your life is horrible. I mean, I look at me," I said placing a hand on my chest. Chloe did as I said, she looked at me long and hard as. "I don't get what you mean," Chloe stuttered. I sighed, figuring she wouldn't. "What I mean is, that there are things in my life I wish I could do over. But if I did, nothing I did would come out the same way it has so far. Possibly," I stated. Chloe stared at me, looking more confused than she had. "Look, what I mean, is that problems just don't go away at your command, no matter how hard you want to believe everything is right with the world." I shrugged again, fiddling with the collar of my barn jacket, I looked to her with a nervous smile. "Somehow, asking _ME_ for advice is a very big problem if I can't ask _your Dad _or Lana Lang." I paused again finding myself asking how Lana was anyway; after the ordeal she went through, she was probably very shaken over it all. Chloe scowled angrily and punched me in the ribs. I didn't appreciate it, I didn't say anything about it either, though.

"Who gives a damn?" Was what came out her mouth. I was left stunned and shocked at the response, so shocked I wasn't sure what to say to her. I laughed nervously several minutes later, in which she did the same thing. It was completely odd to have Chloe asking me all these questions but at the same time it was nice. It comfortable change from what I usually find myself talking about. I continued. "Your bound to make mistakes and do the wrong thing at times, but it doesn't mean your life is horrible." Chloe seemed a little more understanding now, I smiled inwardly and rubbing my wrist feeling upon a sudden downward emotion pulling my reasonably good mood. Chloe scratched the back of her neck with a sigh of her own (I've been doing that a lot), she stared at me scooting a little closer. "Getting back to Clark. What should I do?" Chloe asked. "Should I just . . . forgive Clark quickly and just forget about the whole thing?"

I stared out into the black void that laid out before me, nightfall had come quicker than I expected, this conversation had gone on longer than I expected. But getting back to the matter at hand, I decided to just tell her what I thought instead of trying to find words that wouldn't hurt her feelings. "No. I don't think you should just forgive Clark. He left you alone and didn't return. I expect you were both hurt and worried about him while you were waiting. But I don't think you should just kick dirt in his face because of it though. Its true, give him any time of the day and Clark will drop everything everyone else considers important because of Lana Lang. Don't give up on him just yet Chloe," I said turning to what little I could see of her face. "Give him a chance to realize what a great friend he has and believe me, he'll come running back instantly to you Chloe Sullivan." I was surprised that she didn't snap at me, I got a smile from her.

She seemed happy with what I told her. _Of course, he'll repeat cycle over again when he sees Lana Lang again,_ I thought to myself. In the distance I could see the flickering lights of fireflies all around us, Chloe jumped when one of them appeared in front of her and swatted her hand at it. A few more minutes of silence fell over the two of us again, I found myself humming a song I hadn't heard since 1993. Chloe started laughing as she stood up. I followed suit and reached into the open window of my truck and turned the key in the ignition. The headlights came on and illuminated Chloe's red Volks Wagon Beetle. She grasped my hand proceeding to shake it, I shook her hand back a bit roughly.

"Thanks for the advice Mr. Kent, I appreciate you letting me confide in you. However, I don't think I'll ever be that girl Clark is looking for," She said. I tried not to look surprise at her words and the understanding that came with them, I suddenly felt sorry for her suddenly. I nodded my head in response, adding, "Maybe so, but I know this thing he has for Lana is just a crush. I long winded crush. It won't last forever," Chloe stared at me with intent eyes as though she was searching for some truth in my words which were completely honest in every aspect of the word. As she let go of my hand I felt a familiar gentle gust of wind rush past me, I automatically knew it was Clark coming to get me. Or maybe Chloe. The girl peered behind me and looked shocked, she patted my arm and I turned around.

I spotted Clark with a net in his hand and jar full of fireflies in his other. He walked toward us with a perplex glint in his brown eyes. Chloe tightened her jaw then turned to me. "I'll see you later Mr. Kent," She said in mock-sweetness. "Clark," She said in a told tone of voice. "Hi Chloe," He said hesitantly. Chloe turned away from us hand headed toward the Beetle. Clark gave me a suspicious look as I opened the drivers door. Chloe's car started up, she waved to me with a smile before heading down the dusty road as fast as she could. I climbed and he climbed in after me. "What you were two talking about?" He asked, narrowing his eyes down at me. I grinned at him starting up the truck. I raised my head upward with knowing look. "Wouldn't you like to know," I said mysteriously.

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(TBC) 


End file.
